Frostmaw, the ruler of this freezing wasteland, thought these peaks would be the death of him; But he made them regret it. He made them suffer. Their agony was satisfying, their screams carried on the icy winds. Yet, it wasn’t enough.

  The true euphoria, the kind that surged through him like fire, came from hunting his favorite prey: others of his kind. Their fear, their pain, the way they struggled against the inevitable… it was unmatched. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than watching them break.

  Each kill was a work of art, a masterpiece painted in crimson. Some screamed names of gods that didn’t answer. Others clawed at him until their nails cracked. The weakest among them simply accepted their fate.

  He remembered the last one who’d begged — a boy, no older than sixteen, sobbing and calling for his mother. That one had cried. Until he ran out of tears.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Those were the least entertaining. He much preferred the ones who thought they had a chance, the ones who clung to the false hope of survival. It made their final moments all the sweeter.

  He pulled his cloak tighter against the biting wind. His breath curled in misty tendrils before vanishing into the endless white expanse. The air was sharp, cutting into his skin like shards of glass, but he welcomed the pain. It reminded him that he was alive, that he was stronger than the pathetic weaklings he hunted.

  A fresh trail of footprints stretched ahead, barely visible beneath the snowfall. His next target. His pulse quickened, excitement thrumming in his veins. It had been too long since he tasted the thrill of the chase. He quickened his pace, his boots crunching softly against the frozen ground.

  The hunt was on. The Reaver had entered the games.

  Jason’s already regretting his life choices — and it’s only getting worse from here.

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  Let’s see how far Jason can make it before everything catches fire.